The Fighter Still Remains
by oursolemnhour49
Summary: Survivors may be alive, but that doesn't mean they know how to live. It's a learning process, where a person endures his own suffering and that of another, just for the hope of a smile on that other's face. Takes place at the end of Mockingjay. One-shot.


** All- righty then, first Hunger Games fic! Anyway, I figured I'd better get off my butt and finish this one-shot, since it's been sitting on my hard drive for a while and the trailer for the movie looks so awesome. Just a closer look at Peeta in the aftermath of Katniss's actions at the end of _Mockingjay_ (and slight spoilers for that ending.) Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**I don't own The Hunger Games.**

* * *

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade, and he carries the reminders of ev'ry glove that laid him down or cut him till he cried out, in his anger and his shame, "I am leaving, I am leaving!"  
But the fighter still remains.

_-"The Boxer," Simon and Garfunkel_

* * *

He looked at the faint indentations in his hand for a moment. She had bitten hard, and it did not surprise him that she had not broken the skin. Nor had it surprised him that she had tried so hard to get the poisoned capsule between her teeth. He had seen the agony in her eyes from the instant she raised her bow and sighted along the arrow. Though he had been as astonished as everyone else when she had shot President Coin, he at least had been able to make sure that she was safe from the despair that had consumed her from the moment of her sister's death.

"Mr. Mellark." The smooth voice of a member of the inquiry panel broke into his thoughts. "Mr. Mellark, I have no wish to be offensive, but your assertions can hardly be considered without prejudice."

Peeta stood for a moment, untangling both the words and the meaning behind them. "I love her, if that is what you mean. That I don't deny. But it does mean that I know Katniss. Even if I did not love her, I would know her. I have fought beside her and against her in the Hunger Games. Believe me, if you had ever experienced anything remotely similar to that, you would know that you don't come out of something like that without knowing just what can break a person. What Katniss has been through would break anyone. It's a miracle her sanity held out as long as it did."

A woman with thick white hair and harsh lines around her mouth shuffled a series of papers and leaned forward. "This is quite true, but she already has a record of insubordination against President Coin." Her voice was soft, yet her words somehow managed to fill the entire chamber. "And we have footage of her shooting of the President. It looks very deliberate."

"But it doesn't follow that she was sane," Peeta said. He suddenly felt intensely weary, and his head was beginning to ache badly. It was a sure sign of another flashback, of the lingering effects of the venom the Capitol had used to break his mind. He took a deep breath and gripped the arm of the wooden chair in which he sat.

A thin man seated on the far end of the panel's table immediately noticed his actions. "Mr. Mellark, you should be in the hospital wing. You still are recovering from your injuries, and you were not even required to be present."

"I know," Peeta said with a sigh. His headache was growing far stronger now, and the dim light from the high dome of the ceiling above was beginning to take on a lurid white hue. In a few moments he would have to concentrate all his attention on battling the images that would spring up before his eyes. He rose, trying to stay as steady as possible. "But I do ask you to consider one thing. Katniss had lost her sister due to the bombings ordered by President Coin. All of you have seen what Katniss was willing to risk for her sister. She ran forward to take Prim's place before the girl could even make it to the front of the crowd. In the Quarter Quell, the Capitol used Prim's voice to torment Katniss. You have footage of her reaction. She ran off into the jungle, no matter what might have been there, in order to find Prim." He was silent for a moment, watching all twelve members of the inquiry panel. He had their attention now, but it was clear they were not all convinced. Fighting his way through the headache, that now made it seem as though spikes were being hammered through his temples, he went on. "Prim was the reason she stepped onto the path that lead her to become the Mockingjay. Is it any wonder that when the stratagem of the people to whom she had given herself as a symbol killed her sister- is it any wonder that she snapped?"

Rising, he strode swiftly out of the chamber, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and making it back to the hospital wing. He knew that his words might have been absolutely meaningless, but someone who had known Katniss had had to speak. Haymitch, his and Katniss's mentor throughout the Games, had already missed one of his sessions as a witness due to blind drunkenness. Not that Peeta blamed him too much. All three of them had lost too much in this war, and in the end, perhaps the only ticket to escape Haymitch had was in a bottle.

Peeta was only just able to reach the hospital wing before the venom had worked its way into his brain. Collapsing on the bed, he ground his sheets between his fists, shaking as he tried to suppress the images that flared up again and again. At least now they were only images, rather than false memories. But the pictures themselves were deadly enough. The face of Finnick Odair, the charming champion who had captivated everyone, screaming in agony as electrical tortures flashed over the handsome face. Yet that was impossible, Peeta knew. Finnick had died in the streets of the Capitol. He had been there.

"Not real," he whispered to himself, and as if his mind was taking him through a mental Hunger Games, the next image was by far worse. He saw himself screaming as the Peacekeepers beat him until his ribs cracked and his hands were shaking. And his mother and father were watching and laughing.

He longed to tell himself that that image was false, but his parents' faces were so exact that he could not be sure. And his mother herself had expected, had possibly hoped that Katniss would win. His breathing grew ragged as he fought his longing to scream, cower, and sob. It sent physical pains shooting through his head to fight down the images, but he did not relent. He had to force the images away. They were either false or in the past. Either way, they were not happening now, and he had to hold onto that fact.

The night melted into sleep eventually, and from that sleep came another dreary day. They did not ask him back to witness at Katniss's trial, and he wondered whether it was because of his infirmity or whether his words had actually had power enough to frighten those who were trying to have her executed as a traitor.

Doctor Aurelius eventually came to see him. Peeta was still unsure what to make of this tall man, thin and grey-haired with deepset eyes and an air of quiet scrutiny. There was only so much he could do help combat the images, which were burned into Peeta's memory, into his consciousness. He could not escape them waking or sleeping, so it was hard to see what use this doctor was being. But he did not have much choice in the matter.

The doctor scrutinized him for a moment. "You still have the visions. And the flashbacks," he said at last.

Peeta nodded.

Doctor Aurelius nodded again. "I see." He sat down on the chair opposite Peeta's bed and met the young man's eyes for a moment. "I've done everything I can for you," he said quietly. "The therapy that I've done isn't going to do much more other than take up your time now. I've been trying to give you the means of calming yourself, but if you're going to trials and such, then you're putting yourself at risk for triggering the visions again."

"I know." Peeta sat up. It took him some effort, and he found his hands were trembling, but he managed to sit upright and look the medic in the eye. "I had some last night after the trial. I can tell when they're coming."

"Well, that's a start. It's better than them coming on you suddenly. If you can tell when they're coming, it'll be easier to fight them. And I'm not saying the fighting will be easy, because it won't be. But it will be easier than when they were just bouncing around in your brain."

"Why'd it take so long for me to get to this point?"

Doctor Aurelius grinned wryly. "You really want an in-depth explanation of what the venom does to your brain? We'd be here all day and even then it wouldn't necessarily be accurate, since it seems to affect people differently. For you it's been mostly visions, for some others, it goes after their sense of touch. It's all nerve-related and we're still not sure to deal with it. But if I had to guess- I'd say it's slowly being purged from your system. And I think, though I can't be certain, that stress might feed whatever the compound of the venom is, and make the effects endure longer. And heaven knows you've been under stress lately."

Peeta nodded slowly as he processed the information. No wonder the venom had been used for the Hunger Games. The stress levels there would ensure that the venom would drive anyone infected mad, if it did not kill them outright. He was silent for a moment, thinking about the arena and the games and the horrors that were never really going to go away. Whatever the doctor was thinking, he did not interrupt. For a moment Peeta thought carefully about the best way to lead into the question he wanted to ask most. The question dealt with a rather sensitive topic, and Aurelius might refuse to answer if he asked outright. But the man seemed like the kind to appreciate directness. He looked at the floor for a moment. "So have a lot of people," he said at last.

Aurelius looked at him questioningly, and Peeta met his eyes. "A lot of people have been under stress lately. What with the President's death and all."

"They have." Aurelius's voice was level and Peeta wondered what was going on behind the man's emotionless eyes. "A lot of people aren't sure what to make of it. Our symbol of hope destroying our leader."

"What do you think of it?" Doctor Aurelius raised an eyebrow and Peeta decided that now was the time to be very direct. "What did you think of the shooting, Doctor Aurelius?"

"The shooting? I have to admit, I wouldn't have thought the Mockingjay had that in her. She seemed broken after her sister's death. She seemed broken after the whole thing. So something that aggressive is surprising- her mental state didn't seem inclined to that level of violence. It was violent." He met Peeta's eyes squarely, his face betraying nothing. "But then again, so are the Hunger Games. That kind of thing can wreak havoc on a person's mind and warp everything they see. So perhaps it's not so surprising that she's so unstable."

Peeta felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. This man was on his side in proving that she was insane, and in doing so, saving her life. "You're treating her, aren't you?" he asked casually. "How is she?"

"Quiet," the older man said with a faint smile. "Very quiet. In fact, I haven't heard much from her at all. But I think it's quite obvious to anyone that she was extremely unbalanced. They'll probably order she be isolated to allow her mind time to heal with minimal danger to anyone. I've orders to go on treating her in that event, actually."

"That's good to hear," Peeta said, hoping his relief did not show to much in his voice. "She'll be in good hands."

Doctor Aurelius smiled. "Only if she reaches out and takes them. Or she might reach out to someone else."

There was nothing unusual in his tone or glance, but Peeta found himself staring at the floor. "I don't know. I almost left her last time. You said she was unstable. When I stopped her taking the nightlock, she might have felt that that was leaving her. I don't think she'd… react well to me."

"If you reach out to her, maybe she'll see you never really left." The doctor stood and gave Peeta one last glance. "I'll be back. I need to sign the documents that certify her mental state and what she needs to be treated. She's heading out today, actually back to her home district. I told the panel that was probably the safest place for her."

"Today?" Peeta almost fell off the bed. "Should I get ready?"

"Not yet. Once my medical authority is satisfied with your condition, we'll let you out. And then you can go where you want."

"Where I want," Peeta repeated softly. "Where does someone like me go, I wonder."

"You're really wondering?" Aurelius sounded almost incredulous.

"She'll see me as an enemy, given her unstable condition," Peeta said carefully.

"You're a fighter, and most times fighters go where there's battle. You've done it before. You can do it again."

"For some reason this one makes me more nervous than the others."

"I'm sure," Doctor Aurelius said. "But now no one's making you go."

"True. This time it's my own battle." He stood up as the older man made his way to the door. "Oh, and Doctor Aurelius? How long till I'll be cleared?"

"A few weeks, most likely. Why?"

Peeta smiled. "I have to make sure I have a train ticket reserved for District Twelve."

* * *

When he arrived in his former home, it was a beautiful day, even if the weather did little to reflect the dismal setting. Twelve had been more than gutted, it had been wiped out. The worst of that was that it had not been erased. If it had vanished, that would have been almost bearable. But everywhere Peeta turned there were ruins and traces of ash and rubble. Fragments of houses were still standing; however the Victor's Village was notably almost intact. He knew that was where she was staying, but also knew that she might not want to see him yet.

Before he had left the Capitol, Peeta had asked Aurelius why the doctor had refused to come when he had the opportunity to see his patient. The man's response had been that he wasn't what Katniss needed. "I'm not the healer any of you need at this point," he had said. "I've done what I can for you, but now it's up to you." There had been no abrasiveness in his manner, rather the mere statement of fact. "No one else believes that. They think because I'm a doctor, I can fix anything. It's not true. I can do a lot, but in the end, you have to fix yourselves. Especially with this. If she wants to get better, she will. The question is whether or not she'll want to try. Heaven knows she doesn't have much incentive."

"She's a survivor," Peeta had said quietly. "I know that."

Doctor Aurelius had nodded at that. "Survivors usually push through in the end."

"I'll tell her that," Peeta had promised.

The older man had laughed. "Tell her to keep her end of the charade of patient-doctor." He had glanced up and down the station platform before going on. "Tell her I can't keep faking her progress when she refuses to talk to me. At some point I'm going to have to know how she is."

Peeta had promised to tell her that too. But now, standing in the middle of District Twelve in the bright early morning, he was not sure how he could keep either promise.

He sighed and looked around. The first thing to do would be place his things in his house in the village. That done, he had gone quickly through the streets towards the woods and now-dead electric fence, wondering how he could possibly tell Katniss that she still had a reason to live. That was by far the most important thing for her to understand, but if he failed to express himself properly, she could end by hating him.

The woods were quiet and peaceful, with the sunlight flickering through tree limbs both living and dead. There were many things there, so many little things that made him think of Katniss. The faint traces of grass fighting their way through ash. The life hidden deeper in the recesses of the forest, where it was too dangerous for him to go but where she would travel without fear. He looked around, standing at the edge of the forest. Then he looked more closely at some of the plants poking through some of the more tangled tree-roots. The plants were delicate and frail, but he knew his fingers had the skill to bring them back. An idea had come, an idea that might be the start of everything he needed to somehow help her make it through.

So he ran back to his house for a shovel and wheelbarrow, and then slowly, very slowly, dug up every clod of dirt and tried to minimize any sudden movement to the tendrils of plant-root. Once in the ground they would grow and have some power. Carefully, terrified that he would ruin the cuttings- he was no gardener, after all- he brought the plants down to the house where he knew she was living.

There was no movement behind the windows. It was rather early in the morning, and it was possible that she was still asleep. It was a problem he had not considered. He did not want to wake her, but he was afraid that if he left the plants might die. He had no knowledge of plant life and did not want to risk them dying because he had been too hasty in trying to help her. Finally he decided that the only thing he could was begin to plant the bushes.

He had only just dug up the ground beneath one of the windows when he heard footsteps flying towards him around the corner of the house. Before he could stop himself he sprang to his feet, half-remembering the other times he had heard footsteps dashing towards him both in the Arena and the streets of the Capitol.

She flew around the corner and stopped short, her eyes wide. There was a look of fear and astonishment blended and the combination of that look with her patched skin and the fierce set of her face was unsettling. But she was still beautiful, still incredibly beautiful, and somehow her limp dark hair and wild appearance was all the more enhanced by the suffering in her eyes.

At last she spoke, and her words were hardly welcoming. "You're back."

"Doctor Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," he replied. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

Her thin lips twitched a little, as though she had been about to smile and then thought better of it. "What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice was harsh, and Peeta wondered how long it had been since she had last spoken to anyone.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her." Peeta swallowed at the look that came into her eyes at the merest mention of her younger sister, that sister whose presence had launched her and him alike into this madness that had left them all broken beyond repair. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house," he finished quietly.

The look of rage that came into her eyes was terrible to see. Peeta could not imagine for a moment what he had said or done, but just ask quickly the look passed and she was standing still, almost frozen with no expression on her face. Then she dipped her head and dashed back into the house before he could say anything.

Every seconds seemed to take hours. He could not imagine what he had said or done. Everything he had feared seemed to have come crashing up at him. She could not bear to see him, or he had triggered too much of what she was trying to forget. But he could not leave her. Not now that he had seen her. She was struggling, fighting within herself and whatever she was facing, he was going to stay to help her deal with it, until she threw him out of the house to get rid of him. And even then he would come back for her.

She did not come back the rest of day. Peeta finished planting the primrose bushes, and it took him a while to get their arrangement to his satisfaction. The last seemed too close to the first, but if he moved it, it jutted out awkwardly where someone might step on it. It was deep evening when he finally made the arrangement as satisfactory as it would get, the plant nestled just at the corner of the house. Straightening up, he brushed his hands on his pants and turned around to find that she was standing at the corner of the house, staring silently at the bushes.

For a long moment, he could not think what to say. Facing each other was an acknowledgement of everything from which they were trying to recover. After what they had been through and endured, any kind of word seemed empty. His mouth felt dry and he simply could not speak.

She solved the problem for him with a very faint lopsided smile. "You came back," she said. This time there was genuine emotion in her voice.

He surveyed her patchwork face and sorrowful eyes for what seemed an age, remembering that husky voice and those eyes fighting through his venom-induced agonies in a dark house far away. "You told me to stay with you a long time ago."

"I remember," Katniss said quietly. "And I'm glad you did."

Peeta nodded. She was glad. If keeping that promise gave her gladness, he would keep it and never stop trying to fulfill it. Even if he had to fight the visions and Katniss herself to do so, he would remain with her. Living and surviving for her would no longer be a burden, even if they were still a battle.

And if it turned into a battle, it was one he was willing to embrace.


End file.
